


Show a Little Skin

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Foot Massage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Over-the-pants Foot Job, ankle fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach is turned on by Chris's ankles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show a Little Skin

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a ficlet prompt Jimmypie gave me on tumblr, but it got a little too long to post on tumblr. Who knew the ankle fetish prompt was going to be one of the ones I'd get carried away with?

It’s...really fucking ridiculous, if you think about it. This isn’t the 1800s, and Zach isn’t this sexually repressed guy that should be turned on by a flash of ankle. He doesn’t have any kind of weird foot fetish. He doesn’t want to grind his dick up against those dainty ankle bones or anything. But that doesn’t explain why every single time he sees that patch of exposed skin--bare, sockless skin--he feels hot all over and starts to chub up in his pants.

It’s making him all kinds of neurotic and paranoid. For a while, he manages to make himself believe Chris is doing it on purpose--as if he somehow knew Zach would have this weird reaction to a completely innocuous body part. Once he gets over that, he is overwhelmed by guilt that he has managed to reduce one of his best friends to a sex object. After that, he actually gets angry, and he seriously considers buying all the socks in Target and showing up on Chris’s doorstep with them. Except that would be admitting he has a problem.

Things come to a head during the press tour. It’s unbearable, sitting next to Chris in a room all day with his bare ankle constantly millimeters away from rubbing up against Zach’s socked one. They are already tired and a little cranky, and the days are already way too long, and this just feels like a special kind of torture that Zach doesn’t know what he did to deserve.

They head back to Zach’s hotel room after a particularly long day in London--a barrage of press obligations followed by a sightseeing tour that had them walking all over the city. Chris flops on the bed with his shoes still on, his pants riding up just enough to reveal his--of course--naked ankles. 

“My feet hurt,” he whines. “I think I have like forty blisters.”

Zach sits down at the foot of the bed and keeps his eyes carefully on Chris’s face. “Maybe if you wore socks like a normal person, that wouldn’t happen.”

“Don’t like socks,” Chris says, still pouting. “They make my feet hot.”

“You’d rather have blisters than hot feet?”

“I’d rather have neither.”

“Obviously that’s not an option.”

Chris really pouts this time, his lower lip jutting and his eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he looks down the bed at Zach. Zach is going to fucking rip the comforter apart out of sheer sexual frustration.

“You want me to run you a bath so you can soak them?” he asks. “I think I still have some epsom salts in my bag from when I was filming Agent 47 and I was sore as hell every night from all the training.”

Chris sighs happily like Zach just offered him a stairway to heaven. “You’re too good to me.”

“I really am,” Zach agrees flatly, but he is already getting to his feet and heading for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, the bathtub is half full with steaming hot water, and Chris is sitting on the edge of it with his pants rolled up to his knees and his feet soaking. And Zach is sitting next to him, because yeah, they did a lot of walking, and he might as well take advantage of the foot bath while it’s there. It absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that he has a better vantage point for looking at Chris’s pretty ankles from here than he would if he was sitting a couple feet away on top of the toilet lid. 

Chris didn’t actually have any blisters--he’s just a whining whiner who whines a lot. He is still making little contented sounds and swirling his feet through the water and generally acting like he’s on cloud nine though, so Zach secretly decides that babying him is worth it. 

“Feel better?” Zach asks, knocking his shoulder into Chris’s.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “My feet are still sore though. And my ankles. And my knees a little. I guess I need to get better shoes.”

“You sound like an old man,” Zach says with a grin.

Chris gives Zach a shove, but he obviously is lacking comebacks. They fall silent for a while after that and sag tiredly against each other, pressed together from shoulder to elbow, until the water starts to turn lukewarm and unpleasant. 

In a perfect world, Chris would go back to his own room after they dried off, but this isn’t a perfect world. It is a world perfectly crafted to torture Zach, which is obviously why Chris makes a beeline for the bed again, collapses onto it, wiggles his toes in Zach’s direction, and says, “What would I have to do to get a foot massage?”

“Not gonna happen,” Zach says, standing a good two feet away from the end of the bed, as if the distance will protect him.

“Pleeaassee,” Chris says. He is laying it on real thick, propping himself up on his elbows and rolling his ankles and giving Zach the sad eyes. And finally, Zach decides he’s had enough. Something’s gotta give here, and it’s probably going to be his willpower.

He climbs onto the bed and pulls one of Chris’s feet into his lap, trying to ignore the smug sound of satisfaction that comes out of Chris’s mouth. Pushing his thumb into the arch of Chris’s foot turns that sound into a groan anyway, and then it’s Zach’s turn to be smug. He has it on good authority that his foot rubs are to die for, and if he manages to turn Chris into a puddle of goo, it’ll just be good revenge.

He works on Chris’s arch for a while, then slowly moves his fingers up to the ball of his foot, digging in with his thumbs while Chris grunts his approval. He is reclined on one elbow, watching Zach through half-lidded eyes, like he could easily fall asleep. Zach stares his face for a moment, then looks back down at his foot as he slides his fingers up the back of Chris’s heel, tracing his Achilles tendon and then smoothing his thumb over his ankle bone. Within a minute or two, he is no longer massaging so much as he is using his fingers to map out Chris’s ankle--feeling the bones, the tendons, the texture of his skin, squeezing the lower part of Chris’s calf, running his thumbs up the side of his shin bone. It feels unexpectedly intimate, being able to touch Chris like this. It feels forbidden. 

The pornographic noises Chris is making don’t help. There are no theatrical moans, but the soft sounds of pleasure that he is making instead are almost worse--little contented sighs, low hums, even a little whimper that makes Zach’s blood run hot. It isn’t until he goes to reach for the other foot that he realizes that he is hard.

Somehow, Chris notices too. Zach thought he was out of it, but he should know by now never to underestimate him. Chris shifts like he is going to pull away, and Zach releases his ankle automatically, but then his foot lands directly in the center of Zach’s lap, his toes nudging the hot, hard line of his dick, and Zach sucks in a sharp breath.

“You’re so fucking transparent, did you know that?” Chris says, a laugh in his voice.

“I’m not...I don’t…” Zach isn’t sure what he is supposed to say here. And then Chris is flexing his foot, and he isn’t sure he is capable of speech at all.

“Don’t stop, Zachary. This ankle needs some love too,” Chris says cheekily, as if he isn’t rubbing his foot across Zach’s erection like it’s a totally normal thing to do.

Zach listens to him. He gently takes Chris’s ankle in his hands again, sliding his palms up to his calf and back down again before he starts rubbing this ankle the same way he did the previous one. Except this time it’s hard to focus on the way the delicate bones feel under his fingers when Chris is kneading Zach’s dick with his foot so expertly that you’d think he’d done it before.

Maybe he _has_ done it before.

“Do you have a, uh…” Zach gestures at Chris’s foot. “Like a...foot thing?”

“Me? You’re the one that’s been ogling my ankles.” He does something fancy with his toes that makes Zach groan. “I thought you were the one with the foot thing.”

“No,” Zach says. “Just...just a fascination with your sock allergy, I guess.”

“You were seduced by my bare ankles?” Chris looks unbearably smug now. “That’s awfully 19th century of you. Should I have been carrying around an antique fan and trying to give you signals?”

Zach growls and tugs Chris’s foot up out of his lap, then leans down and bites his ankle, earning himself a yelp and effectively wiping the smirk off Chris’s face. He lunges up the bed, kissing his way up Chris’s neck and then nipping at his ear. “You fucking jerk,” he says, completely without malice. “You’re a menace to society. Someone should lock you up.”

“You want to lock me up?” Chris wiggles, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Kinky.”

“Oh, you little--” Zach grinds his hips against Chris’s, hissing when he feels that Chris is hard too.

He crushes their mouths together at the same moment that he reaches for Chris’s fly. As overwhelmed as he is, it takes far too long to get their pants open, to get their cocks out and butting up against each other. Chris’s hand joins Zach’s in wrapping around them both, and Zach licks at his mouth and nibbles at his lips while they rut against each other, into their combined grips. It’s frenetic and rushed and still far too good, a release of what feels like eons worth of tension and desire. Zach can’t believe how into it Chris is, and he can’t help but wonder how long ago they could have been doing this, but it doesn’t matter. It’s good. It’s amazing. Better than a rushed handjob should be.

“I’m gonna come,” Chris gasps into Zach’s mouth, and even if Zach wasn’t already close, hearing that would have been enough to drag him to the edge. He pumps his hips into their combined hands and grunts when the head of his cock catches on the ridge of Chris’s, and then Chris is coming, slicking the way for Zach’s last few thrusts before the blissed-out expression on Chris’s face and the wetness between them pulls his orgasm out of him.

Zach breathes into the crook of Chris’s neck afterward, only barely keeping the presence of mind to not lower his weight onto Chris and the mess on their stomachs. Chris is trembling a little, and at first Zach thinks it’s because of what just happened, but then he realizes he is shaking with _laughter_.

“What--?” He pulls back a little to look at Chris’s face. There are crinkles of mirth at the corners of his eyes and he is shaking his head a little bit.

“I can’t believe our first time together started with an over-the-pants footjob.”

Zach hums thoughtfully, fighting a smile. “Would it be weird if I didn’t think it was that weird?”

“ _You’re_ fucking weird,” Chris laughs. 

“You like it,” Zach says. He can’t fight that smile anymore.

“I do,” Chris admits, his eyes going soft. He arches his neck up and kisses Zach one more time, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. “I look forward to seeing every single weird part of you.”

Zach smiles down at him for a moment, then carefully climbs off of him and gets to his feet, tugging Chris with him. “Come on. Join me in the shower. I might have a few more weird parts to show you.”


End file.
